Bianca x Nico
by NinjaDemigod
Summary: This is a one-shot featuring Bianca and Nico di Angelo, a sister taking care of her brother. It was inspired by the song Battle Scars by Paradise Fears, and those are the song lyrics in the story, so I do not own them or the HoO series.


He was seventeen now. Seventeen long years, ten of which were erased from his memories. The other seven years were the life of a demigod. Seven years of death, betrayal, of fighting for a cause he didn't even know existed. Seven years of being the outcast, the one everybody was afraid of simply because he was different. Seven years of hatred and torture. Seven years full of _sadness_ and heart-aching _grief_ that he wished he had never lived. They had hurt him too much, and now, he was suffering the consequences he shouldn't have deserved.

It was nightmare. There were no street lights to illuminate the dark, dense forest he was standing in. The wind rustled the leaves of the trees, the only sound to pierce the silence of the night. Not a single animal dared to disturb the young boy with the haunted, teary eyes which a hand would rub angrily every now and then. He simply stood there, not moving, not speaking, staring at a sloppily dug hole in the ground until he snapped back to reality.

The boy in all black roughly poured a six-pack of Coke and dumped a McDonald's Happy Meal in the hole. While he did so, he murmured "Let the dead taste again. Let them rise and take this offering. Let them remember." When all the cans were emptied out, he raised his arms and chanted in a foreign, ancient language. Greek. He chanted about memories, about the dead returning to Earth.

The grave started bubbling with frothy brown liquid like it was filling with the soda he had previously poured. Fog rolled in from the trees, shrouding him and the plants in a thick white blanket. Even the wind stopped howling as everything slowed to a stop. The only things moving were the blue tinted human figures appearing around the hole.

He took a deep breath and unsheathed his Stygian iron sword. "Bianca," he whispered shakily, "I summon thee."

Instantly, a single figure detached itself from the others and floated forward, kneeling by the pool. It's hands reached out to cup the liquid and drink, then silently grabbed some fries to eat slowly. When the figure had stood again, it was much clearer.

She was a young girl, younger than the boy. Her dark, silky hair was pulled back in a braid, which brought out the freckles dotting her nose and the black eyes that gleamed with something akin to genius. She was wearing beige army jacket with a fur lined hood as well as brown cargo pants. A bow and a quiver of arrows were slung over her shoulder like they were always meant to be there.

The boy's body trembled. "Bianca?" he said, reaching an arm out to touch her, but his hand passed right through chest.

She smiled sadly at him. "Hey there. How's camp going?"

He swallowed, opening his mouth to speak. The words clogged in his throat though, and no sound came out. He tried again, to force out even a simple 'I'm good', but all that he managed was another whimpered, "Bianca?" His voice was on the verge of tears.

Bianca raised a hand and set it down lightly on his shoulder. He could feel it brush slightly against him, knowing with sorrow that it would never rest fully on him, only ever hovering. "Look how tall you've gotten," she whispered. "You've grown so much."

The trembling grew to violent shivers, and his legs collapsed on the ground. He knelt in front of her, face hidden from her view as his shoulders shook with silent sobs. The sword that he had previously been holding in a death grip dropped uselessly next to him. His whole body drooped forward, as though all the pain and suffering he had been subjected to over the years was finally being let out with each heaving cry.

She stooped down beside him, trying to reach his eyes that were covered with his black shaggy hair. "Hey," she whispered, "What's wrong?"

He lifted his head to meet her eyes. His were glistening with tears, many rolling down his cheeks to slip off his chin and sink into the dirt. His eyes that were so black, blacker than her own, somehow shone brighter than anything with all the torturous things he had seen and experienced before. They were a gateway to his broken, pain-filled soul.

"Bianca," he whimpered. "Bianca, I can't do it anymore. I just _can't._ It hurts _too much_." His chest heaved up and down with barely held back sobs, more and more tears slipping down his face. "Please, Bianca, please, I need you. I can't do this." His head dropped down again, shoulders shaking even more violently.

Now that she was more solid, she was able to put her fingers under his chin and gently tilt his head up so their eyes met once more. "Don't give up. You _can_ do this, little brother. I know you can. I believe in you, even if nobody else does." Her eyes blazed with that true love that was only reserved for family. And family they were- even if one of them was dead.

A dam broke, letting loose everything he had been repressing. The previously silent sobs turned into loud, relentless sobs that spoke volumes of grieving, although no words were being said. The teenager lifted his arms, searching for the one thing he so desperately needed right now;

A _hug_.

Bianca wrapped her arms around the boy, as best as she could for a ghost. He buried his face into her shoulder as she whispered soothing words into his ear, promises that everything would get better and that she was there, that she was there to help. That she loved him.

She stroked his hair lovingly, the way a mother would do to calm down her child. She held him tightly, as tightly as she could manage, and his arms curled around her even more to bring her closer, as though he couldn't get enough of the contact.

"Shh," she murmured. "I'm right here, it's all right, it's all right." And the words may have even been true, if a tear had not slipped down her own cheek just then. "It's all right," she repeated, though her voice was a bit choked up.

"Bianca," the boy whimpered again. All he wanted was his sister right then- for her to wrap her arms around him like she was doing and tell him it would be okay. He wanted her to do it before she would never be able to again. He needed the comfort of his _sister_.

His hands desperately curled even more onto her, needing the reassurance that she was there, maybe not in body but in spirit, that she would be there to help him. He shook with his loud, heaving sobs that put so much pressure on his lungs that he could barely _breathe_ , but he couldn't stop. He needed to let it all out. He needed to release the pain that had been plaguing him for years with absolutely no one to cry to. He only had himself and now, his sister.

When his cries had let up a bit, she leaned away from the hug, immediately sitting down next to him in order to keep that physical contact. She wrapped an arm around him and he leaned his head on his shoulder. He sniffled, and rubbed his eyes angrily, like it was his own fault for crying out the pain others had dealt him.

"Let me sing you a song, little brother," Bianca said. "I learned it from one of the other spirits on Elysium who's just like you. A lost soul." She paused for a second, then opened her mouth and began softly;

" _This is an anthem for the homesick, for the beaten,_

 _The lost, the broke, the defeated._

 _A song for the heartsick, for the standbys,_

 _Living life in the shadow of a goodbye._

 _Do you remember when we learned how to fly?_

 _We'd play make-believe; we were young and had time on our side._

 _You're stuck on the ground,_

 _Got lost, can't be found._

 _Just remember that you're still alive._

 _I'll carry you home._

 _No, you're not alone._

 _Keep marching on,_

 _This is worth fighting for,_

 _You know we've all got battle scars._

 _You've had enough,_

 _But just don't give up._

 _Stick to your guns,_

 _You are worth fighting for._

 _You know we've all got battle scars._

 _Keep marching on._

 _This is a call to the soldiers, the fighters,_

 _The young, the innocent, and righteous._

 _We've got a little room to grow._

 _Better days are near,_

 _Hope is so much stronger than fear._

 _So if you jump, kid, don't be scared to fall._

 _We'll be kings and queens in this dream, all for one, one for all._

 _You can light up the dark,_

 _There's a fire in your heart,_

 _Burning brighter than ever before._

 _I'll carry you home._

 _No, you're not alone._

 _Keep marching on,_

 _This is worth fighting for,_

 _You know we've all got battle scars._

 _You've had enough,_

 _But just don't give up._

 _Stick to your guns,_

 _You are worth fighting for._

 _You know we've all got battle scars._

 _Keep marching on."_

The boy's silent cries returned full-force, but they tears were of gratefulness, of thanking, that someone actually loved them. They blurred his vision and wet his cheeks, so much he could barely see the hazy silver outline that surrounded her. He tried to thank his sister, to tell her he loved her, yet the words clogged in his throat again. Instead, he attempted to hold her closer, though with panic, he realised that she was starting to vanish back to where she came from.

Bianca hugged her brother. "Keep marching on, Nico," she whispered, as her body slowly faded away. "Don't ever give up."

And as her figure disappeared into nothingness, three single words floated on the wind. Three words that he would cherish, for those words were not often spoken to him, as he was all alone, with no one that cared for him. He only had Bianca, and she was dead. So those three words, they were ones that nearly made him break down once more.

" _I love you."_


End file.
